


doghouse

by okayantigone



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dating for clout, F/F, F/M, Fake Dating, M/M, Posh People, Social Media
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 13:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21302759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: "oh my gosh, look at the puppies!" sansa says, and claps her hands. she radiates light in the warm autumn glow. 'the puppies' are only a little bit less the size of a horse than direwolves, the current crop of attack dogs ramsay is training to rip intruders apart, so his father's security firm can turn a filthy profit."sure," he says faintly, "the puppies."it's like this: ramsay's boyfriend's foster sister needs someone to scare off her abusive ex.it's like this: sansa's foster brother's boyfriend needs a respectable date to his father's wedding to his new stepmom.and theon absolutely thinks it's hilarious.
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton/Sansa Stark, Roose Bolton/Walda Frey, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Ramsay Bolton/Myranda
Comments: 27
Kudos: 43





	doghouse

**Author's Note:**

> ramsay/sansa fake dating modern aus is what i am alive for  
my take on ramsay is inspired by AsbestorMouth, read their fics, they're brill.

sansa knocks on the heavy door of apartment DR on the 4th floor. theon had told her to just go in when he handed her the address, but she still felt bad at the thought of just making herself at home, even if it was the apartment of theon’s… boyfriend? 

the building is in one of the nice neighborhoods, near KLU, and within walking distance from the headquarters of the big corporations where all the yuppies that lived here tend to work. 

there is a doorman and all, and the hallways are carpeted, everything done in dark cherry wood and red. imposing, classy, as far as apartment buildings go. for some reason, the apartments are labelled with letters instead of numbers, and number is styled after the letters. some weird, hipster thing, theon had said flippantly. 

“just go to the dreadfort,” he’d clapped her on the shoulder. 

“the what?” 

“apartment DR on the 4th floor. DR4th.” 

“right.” 

and now here she is. when no one respond sto her second knock, she heeds theon’s advice and pushes the door in. the hallway is barely that – it leads straight into a spacious living room, a massive television set and gaming consoles mounted on one wall, floor to ceiling windows obscured by blackout curtains, and a bar separating the living space from the kitchen area. someone’s left a half-full bottle of dornish red on the counter. there’s three stainless steel dog bowls on the floor next to the fridge. 

“hello?” she calls out. 

she’s not sure anyone’s there. maybe people who live in a building where Bolton Securities are employed just leave their doors unlocked all the time. 

“ramsay? is that you, babe?” 

she hears a woman’s voice, and turns around. 

the girl that’s just come out of the darkened hallway on the other side of the living room is wrapped in a bedsheet and very obviously naked. 

“uh.” sansa says lamely. she’s absolutely out of words. 

“can i help you?” the girl asks, like this is an everyday occurrence. 

“theon… greyjoy… sent me?” sansa says lamely. 

“i told him i don’t want a callgirl for my birthday,” the girl says dramatically, and rolls her eyes. “i’ll pay you your hourly, and you can go,” she makes way, as if to go back for a wallet. 

“i’m not a – “ sansa feels her cheeks turn as red as her hair. “i’m sansa? sansa stark, theon’s foster sister? didn’t he say anything?” 

the other woman – sansa’s finally recalled her name – myranda – theon’s boyfriend’s girlfriend – frowns, scrunching up her nose in thought. 

she shrugs. “i didn’t know to expect anyone,” she says. “maybe he told ramsay. have a seat, he’s walking the dogs. make yourself at home, et cetera.” 

she disappears down the hall, and sansa, for want of anything better to do, flops in one of the large leather armchairs. 

myranda emerges a few minutes after, this time dressed in an overly large men’s t-shirt. it’s “screaming for the warrior” band merchandise, from their last album “maiden of war”. she shifts uncomfortably, when sandor’s face stares at her, from across myranda’s ample bosom. there were at least three songs on that album about her, not that anyone knew. well. a lot of people knew. margery wasn’t letting her forget that she’d dated a legend of modern punk any time soon. or arya. oh, arya had been jealous. 

“you want tea, or anything?”myranda asks. “i don’t really know how to host a posh person, n stuff. well. ramsay’s posh, but like-“ she shrugs broadly. 

sansa nods. she’d heard her fair share of things about ramsay bolton. that’s why she was here, after all. 

“um. tea’s fine,” she says awkwardly. myranda hands her a mug with a poorly rendered picture of five terrifying looking dobermans. 

she’s drinking the foulest smelling coffee, from a Bolton Securities corporate mug. they sit in uncomfortable silence, until the front door opens. 

the dogs get in before ramsay. there’s three of them, black, and graceful. they study her carefully, dismiss her as uninteresting, and trot into the house. their gaze is much like their master’s, when she meets ramsay bolton’s cold pale eyes for the first time. 

she’d seen him of course – theon would wax poetic about him to anyone who would listen, with an almost concerning amount of slavish devotion. which – poor choice of words considering the nature of their relationship – but in real life he managed to be somehow more and less intimidating than the stories made him out to be. 

she and myranda stood up at the same time. 

“hey babe! when were you gonna tell me that theon’s foster sister was coming over?” 

myranda asks sweetly, as she goes to his side, to greet him with an entirely too deep kiss. he puts an arm around her waist in a motion that seems entirely automatic, like they’re part of the same puzzle, fitting together, as he shrugs out of his leather jacket. he looks like a street punk, if street punks wore eight hundred dragon shit-kickets. 

sansa waits for him to disentangle his face from his girlfriend. he toed out of the boots, and suddenly, myranda had a good two inches on him. which meant sansa stood a solid foot over ramsay bolton. he was entirely unperturbed when he maneouvered around myranda to shake sansa’s hand. 

“sansa stark, yes?” his face approximates a welcoming smile. it doesn’t look quite right, but she returns it, as well as his enthusiastic hand shake. 

“i’m sure i told you, myranda,” he waves his hand. “remember that little issue we discussed?” 

myranda frowns again. 

“the issue of my inheritance?” he prompts. 

“isn’t that always the issue with you?” she asks. “he threatens your money, you pretend to fall in line, and then in a few months it’s all the same, all over again.” 

“that’s how we played it before he decided to get married to a woman with childbirthing hips as wide as the twins,” ramsay’s voice drops into something nasty. “and theon here, has been kind to recommend sansa as a solution to my problems.” 

sansa looks between the two of them. 

myranda shrugs. “okay. she’s high born enough, i suppose. your old man will be happy?” 

“right up until our dramatic and public break up.” ramsay assures, and kisses myranda again. “off you go. the grownups have to talk.” 

“i’m older than you,” myranda calls over her shoulder. 

ramsay gestures sansa to sit, and she sits. he sits too, crossing one leg over the other, and seeming utterly at ease. 

“she uh – she’s not mad at me… or you? is she?” 

ramsay shrugs. “if she’s mad, she’ll get over it. she’s the one who said she won’t love me anymore, if i run out of money.” 

privately, sansa thinks that’s a horrible thing to say, even as a joke. 

“myranda thinks one penniless disinherited former prince is enough for our little triad.” 

“theon’s not penniless,” sansa says loyally. 

“but he’s still poor by your standards,” ramsay says. “so he dates me. and i keep him in the lifestyle he’s accustomed to. and i try to keep my woman in the lifestyle she’s accustomed to, and i am also keeping me in the lifestyle i’m accustomed to. but really, i just want to put the dogs through college.” 

she cracks a smile at that. the whole situation is so absolutely bizarre, she’s not sure what else to do. 

“theon didn’t really tell me much,” she confesses. “he just said you need a date to your father’s wedding, and that you can’t bring him, or your girlfriend.” 

“that about sums it up,” ramsay says thoughtfully. he picks up myranda’s coffee from where she’s left it on the table. 

“roose’s been threatening to disinherit me left right and center, ever since he got custody of me. makes a man wonder why he even bothered. of course, then dom had to go and die, and suddenly, i had to actually learn things,” he rolls his eyes. “but with dom dead, it meant – “ 

“that you were his heir,” sansa finished quietly. domeric bolton had been a classmate of robb’s. handsome, and tall, an archer, a harpist, an athlete. pride and joy of roose bolton, an shiny steel prince next to his uncomely, odd bastard born younger brother. 

a mild cough and fever in the night had turned to be a dangerous case of fast acting pneumonia the following morning. he’d gone to sleep and never woken up. she’d been very little then, but her mother had had a lot of choice words to say, about roose bolton declaring a bastard his heir. jon had conveniently chosen that exact time to disappear on a week long ski trip with their uncle benjen, to avoid her wrath around the house.

ramsay shrugs again. he’s not looking at her, but rather somewhere over his shoulder. she can’t tell if talking about his older brother is making him feel any type of way, or if he’s made peace with it. if any of her siblings died… she’s not sure she’d ever recover. bran had lost the ability to walk, and she still felt tears burn behind her eyes whenever she thought about it. then again, she’d heard the other rumors too. that ramsay had poisoned his brother, or maybe stolen into his room in the dead of night and suffocated him with a pillow. 

he meets her eyes dead on. “he’d marrying that fat bitch walda frey,” he intones, his voice light once more. “and he wants me to bring a presentable girl to the ceremony, or he’s disinheriting me, and he might be for real this time.”

“okay,” sansa says. wedding guest. she can do that. she’s been to so many weddings. 

“theon made it sound like you want something more permanent though?” he arches his eyebrows. 

it makes it sound like they’ll be dating for real, which… no. she’d seen the marks on theon’s body. theon got an absolutely blissed out look when he fingered the bruises on his neck, but it just made sansa shudder, and feel bile rise up in her throat. 

“did he um – did he tell you why?” 

“he said it had something to do with that little cunt joff?” ramsay doesn’t sound like he cares one way or the other, which was precisely why theon had suggested him for her purposes. 

even sandor wouldn’t have … if it had come to it… but ramsay – 

“is it true you broke his nose in - um. in boarding school?” the words are out of her mouth before she can think to stop herself, but she still catches herself on the words one shouldn’t bring up when one is trying to be polite. 

“you can just say juvie,” ramsay says. “and i wish i’d done worse. he’s very puncheable.” 

sansa couldn’t exactly argue. if she was a terrifying boy with a terrifying reputation, in a juvenile detention centre for stabbing a man, she’d have probably punched joffrey by now. 

“he’s getting out soon,” she says quietly. 

the charges against ramsay had been dropped, when the tapes form the stabbing were studied, and the bolton lawyer could prove it was self-defense. ramsay’s father had bought him out – that’s what theon said, at least. apparently, tiwyn lannister had decided enough money had been sunk on joffrey’s legal defences though, so he’d done his full time. 

what sansa knew though, was that the tyrells had thrown their weight behind the scenes, and their weight had been more than enough of a match against the lannister bribes. 

“you know if you wanted a Bolton Securities attack dog, you could have just bought one,” ramsay says. 

he’d done some work to clean up his image – at least as far as him being a knife-crazed murder maniac was concerned. he worked for his father’s security firm, training dogs, had been outsourced to military contracts, even. but as far as his personal life went – well. those leaked porn tapes were burned in her mind forever, now. she hadn’t realized varys would have uploaded the whole thing on his site, with autoplay enabled. anything for the clicks, she supposed. 

“you need a fake girlfriend. i need a fake boyfriend. and i already have a dog, thank you very much.” 

he perks up at that. “you have a dog? don’t tell me it’s one of those little teacup whatevers – you know they can’t breathe properly and their organs are all –“ 

“it’s a direwolf,” sansa interrupts. ramsay loved his dogs, theon said. they were his babies. how bad could a man who liked animals be, anyway?

his eyes go big as saucers. “you’re shitting me. i thought it was bullshit varys made up for the clicks.” ramsay says. 

“no. we all have one.” 

“i suppose that’s how we met for real then,” ramsay says. 

“what?” 

“well, i knew you because you’re theon’s sister, but we really bonded over dogs, and met a few times walking our furry babies, and all that." he stands up abruptly, and starts pacing behind her. he's really not a terrible looking man, pleasantly broad in the shoulders and chest, and adequately charming if you haven't heard anything about him. 

"so it's a deal?" she asks, finally. "you'll pretend to be my boyfriend, and i'll go to all of roose bolton's parties with you." 

"sure," ramsay says. "and if that little fuck joffrey tries any shit, let me know, and i'll go for round two with him, and no one will find the body." 

it's different than how robb and jon, and even sandor talk about killing joffrey. because she gets the unsettling feeling ramsay actually means it.


End file.
